On With Torchy eBook

He wasn’t Payne to me. He was Joy.
Easy? Why, he fairly pushes me into it!
Digs a white jumper out of a locker for me, and a
little round canvas hat with “Vixen” on
the front, and trots back uptown to buy me a swell
pair of rubber-soled deck shoes. Business of
quick change for yours truly. Then look!
Say, here I am, just about the yachtiest thing in
sight, leanin’ back on the steerin’ seat
cushions of a classy speed boat that’s headed
towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip.

CHAPTER XIII

AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE

Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine,
bound for Roarin’ Rocks, wa’n’t
I? Hold the picture,—­me in a white
jumper and little round canvas hat with “Vixen”
printed across the front, white shoes too, and altogether
as yachty as they come. Don’t forget young
Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although
whether I’d kidnapped him, or he’d kidnapped
me, is open for debate.

Anyway, here I was, subbin’ incog for the reg’lar
crew, who was laid up with a sprained ankle.
All that because I’d got the happy hail from
Vee on a postcard. It wa’n’t any
time for unpleasant thoughts then; but I couldn’t
help wonderin’ how soon Aunty would loom on the
horizon and spoil it all.

“So there’s a picnic on the slate, eh?”
I suggests.

Young Mr. Hollister nods. “I’d promised
some of the folks at the house,” says he.
“Guests, you know.”

“Oh, yes,” says I, feelin’ a little
shiver flicker down my spine.

I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was
Aunty. The picnic prospects might have been
more allurin’. But I’d butted in,
and this was no time to back out. Besides, I
was more or less interested in sizin’ up Payne
Hollister. Tall, slim, young gent; dark, serious
eyes; nose a little prominent; and his way of speakin’
and actin’ a bit pompous,—­one of
them impatient, quick-motioned kind that wants to do
everything in a minute. He keeps gettin’
up and starin’ ahead, like he wa’n’t
quite sure where he was goin’, and then leanin’
over to squint at the engine restless.

“Just see if those forward oil cups are full,
will you?” says he.

I climbs over and inspects. Everything seems
to be O. K.; although what I don’t know about
a six-cylinder marine engine is amazin’.

“We’re slidin’ through the water
slick,” says I.

“She can turn up much faster than this,”
says he; “only I don’t dare open her wide.”

I was satisfied. I could use a minute or so
about then to plot out a few scenarios dealin’
with how a certain party would act in case of makin’
a sudden discovery. But I hadn’t got past
picturin’ the cold storage stare before the
Hollister place shows up ahead, Payne throttles the
Vixen down cautious, shoots her in between a couple
of rocky points, and fetches her up alongside a rope-padded
private float. There’s some steps leadin’
up to the top of the rocks.